The Bet

"See. Now this is more like it."

Monica stepped in front of Chandler, stretched her arms out and gestured towards the commotion happening on the casino floor. Chandler could only respond by wincing as he was greeted by a cacophony of noise and flashing lights. He felt overwhelmed by the rising din of the crowds around each game table, the slot machines ringing out with their tinny sound effects, and the music playing on the overhead speakers. His eyes could hardly sort through the near endless cycle of people walking past him. Hard luck losers lamenting their misfortune, new and excited patrons carrying stacks of chips, ready to take their chances as they looked for an open seat, and servers carrying overloaded trays of drinks to the gamblers and spectators spread about the casino. It was sensory overload.

Monica smiled ear-to-ear as she turned to face him. There was a smugness to her demeanor, almost as if she were prepared to brag about a victory in a competition that Chandler had no idea he was a party to, yet somehow, he had lost to her anyway. He looked back at her and recoiled a bit once he recognized the familiar glint in her eyes. The insatiable competitor was rising within her, ready to find a game she could master or an adversary she could best and humiliate with her ridiculous brand of trash-talk. Chandler tried to ignore the beast that was waking up right before his eyes. He hoped by not acknowledging its existence, he may hold it at bay. He took a moment to look around and he grumbled as he feigned disinterest.

"You know, they had slot machines at the airport. We could have just stayed there. Played a few games, had some airport cinnamon buns for breakfast, and then snag a flight back home."

Monica folded her arms and scoffed. "Pfft. Come on Bing. Where is your sense of adventure?"

"I think I left it back in 1989."

Monica could not help but laugh as she quickly wrapped her hands around his arm. "We said we were going to Vegas. The airport isn't Vegas. This is Vegas!" Monica excitedly gestured once more at the casino floor.

Chandler rubbed the back of his neck. He had almost completely sobered up by the time they arrived at Caesar's Palace. The dull throb from the plane ride had returned and his eyes were now like half-moons. He felt the tug of sleep etching its imprint over his entire being. All he wanted to do now was lie down and pass out. He mocked enthusiasm as he held up a plastic bag and gestured at it, hoping to entice her to call it a night.

"Not that this doesn't look like fun, but what if we took these clothes that we got at the gift shop, go to our room, and get some sleep? I know you're dying to try on that t-shirt. Doesn't that sound like an adventure?"

Monica rolled her eyes and grabbed him by the hand. "Let's get a drink and play some games!"

Chandler raised his hand up to his mouth to cover a yawn. "Okay, but after that, I need to get some sleep. It's two o'clock in the morning."

Monica dragged him further into the casino as she shook her head in disbelief. "Oh, okay party animal."

Monica looked in the bathroom mirror and tugged at the oversized Caesar's Palace t-shirt Chandler had bought for her when they first arrived. She turned around and craned her neck as she tried to ensure that the shirt was long enough to cover her backside and that it would work as a nightdress. As she pulled on the hem and stretched it, she thought about how she was initially frustrated with him when he had insisted that they stop at the gift shop before entering the casino. She assumed he was stalling; trying to avoid the gaming tables. Yet now, as she prepared herself for bed, she was thankful she did not have to sleep in the clothes she wore on the plane. She was also grateful for the opportunity to finally brush her teeth.

She had to admit that she was impressed. Chandler seemed to have thought of everything and quickly filled a basket with assorted sundries and articles of clothing when they stepped into the small gift shop by the front desk. A skill he claimed to have picked up thanks to all the times he found himself in a strange city without a packed bag or a change of clothes during one of his many wild excursions with Ross and Gandalf. Monica was certain though, that if she were sober, she would have completed a more thorough list for them before they even got off the plane. She made a mental note to write one out in the morning and compare it with what Chandler had purchased to make sure there wasn't anything missing that they might need.

When she stepped out of the bathroom, she looked towards the two double-beds and found Chandler already fast asleep. He was face-down on top of his bed, fully clothed, and even still wearing his shoes. She stood there in the entranceway to the bathroom and let the light from behind her bathe him in its soft glow. She smiled as she felt a sense of déjà vu. She remembered watching him sleep before. It was earlier this year when he was hiding from his malcontented ex-roommate Eddie in her apartment. She found an odd sense of comfort in that brief moment of voyeurism, similar to how she was feeling right now as she spied on him once again.

It felt like she was getting to see this rare, intimate version of her friend that no one else was privy to. His face was still and not cracked by his incessant need to nervously fill the air with his sarcastic remarks and witty observations. His eyes weren't filled with panic; conveying this unspoken sense of dread at being thrust into some social interaction he so desperately tried to avoid. Instead, in this quiet moment, he had the face of a different man. A more attractive and confident man. The kind of man she could see someone wanting to fall asleep with and wake up next to. There was a welcoming warmth to him. She imagined that if someone were to stir in the middle of the night, wake in a fright from a nightmare or some torturous subconscious turmoil that refused to let them sleep peacefully, and then they rolled over and saw his face, it would quickly put them at ease.

She leaned against the doorframe and thought about how she ended up here with him and exactly what she was doing in Las Vegas. She wondered if she should be home right now, mourning the end of her relationship alone in her darkened apartment as she popped open her fourth container of ice cream. Struggling to bring herself to fall asleep. Flailing about in her bed as the open wound of her break-up kept her from finding a moment's respite from her turbulent mind. Ending things with Richard was still so fresh. It had barely been eighteen-hours since that moment on the dancefloor. It should be all she was thinking about. Yet, as she watched her friend sleep, and pondered how she was going to get him out of his jacket and shoes, and under the covers without waking him, an odd sense of peace rolled over her.

She knew Chandler well. He has been one of her best friends for a long time. He no doubt thought that he was here to take care of her. But Monica knew that wasn't the case at all. Chandler was here so Monica had someone else to focus on besides herself. Worrying about him getting a good night's sleep. Making sure he ate enough. Nursing his hangover. Filling his day with fun and excitement. He would be the perfect salve and the best distraction. She was certain that taking care of Chandler while they were on this trip was how she was going to keep everything else at arm's length. It was how she was going to keep the pain away. Maybe, it would even be how she was going to get over Richard.

Upon opening his eyes, Chandler felt as if the room was spinning and his bed was floating on rough seas. He held onto the bed tightly, for fear that he might fall off and drown, or worse, get flung from the earth and out into the atmosphere. He eventually wobbled himself into a seated position and squinted his eyes. Even though the room was painted in shadows, he still felt pain as if bright lights were being trained at his eyes as he tried to focus his vision. He quickly looked over at the other bed and saw Monica sleeping peacefully.

He studied her face for a moment and smiled at how calm she seemed. Ever since he first saw her last night when she appeared in her bedroom doorway, she had been on a wild rollercoaster of emotions. Even when she smiled at him as they tried to find a flight out of New York and head straight into this wild adventure, there was still the specter of what had happened to her riddled across her face. It was always there, easy for him to detect in the back of her eyes.

He could see it so clearly. It was as if he were trained, throughout all the years he had known her, to recognize when she was holding back how she truly felt. He saw past the obsessive cleaning and incessant organizing and busy work that she usually buried herself in. No matter how hard she tried to cover it up, he could always see the real Monica underneath.

Still, it was rare to see her truly despondent, but he had witnessed it a few times before. Her break-up with Kip came to mind, and how angry and hurt she was when that ended. It was also there when Phoebe had moved out, causing Monica to doubt if she could ever find someone who would like her for who she really was. He also saw it when she lost her job earlier this year, and had nowhere to turn for money. It ate away at the brave face she tried to wear. The doubt, the insecurities, they threatened to bubble over and send her into a downward spiral. How could he blame her if they did? She believed life was telling her she would be unloved, lonely, and her dreams would never be realized. If it had all happened to him, he wouldn't be able to get out of bed for a month.

But now, as he watched her sleep, he saw none of that sadness on her face. None of the despair he assumed would return once she sobered up and remembered why they were here in the first place. Instead, there she was, lying peacefully with an almost half-smile on her face. He was not sure what tomorrow would bring, or when the dam would break, and everything she was trying to hold back with this trip would flood out of her like a river wild. What he did know, was that he could not let her feel alone.

Chandler woke when he heard a heavy door slam shut. He opened his eyes and saw Monica briskly stride into the room. She smiled at him and tossed a plastic bag in his direction. He reached a hand up to catch it, but he could only manage to swat at it and cause it to fall down on the floor behind his bed.

"Nice going dropper."

Chandler mocked her tone and spoke back to her in gibberish. She smirked and raised an eyebrow at him.

He rolled his eyes and tried to sit up. "What's in the bag?"

"You forgot to buy us underwear and socks last night."

Chandler leaned over and pulled the bag up. He opened it and inspected its contents.

"You got me tighty whities!"

"That's all they had."

Chandler lifted the package of underwear up and grimaced. "Ugh. Are these bikini briefs?"

Monica grabbed some folded clothes from her bed and walked towards the bathroom. "I don't know. I told you, that's all they had."

Chandler grumbled and then laid back down on the bed. "What are you doing?"

"I'm taking a shower and then we are going out for breakfast and then we are going to play some games. I won forty bucks last night!"

"Wow. Maybe we should open up a swiss bank account for you."

Monica screwed up her lips and took her turn mocking his tone and repeating what he said back to her in unintelligible gibberish.

Chandler put the package of underwear down on the bed and gestured towards the phone. "Oh, hey, I think we should call back home to let them know we are okay. They're probably worried about you."

Monica stopped and turned around. "I don't know. I really don't want to talk to anyone right now. Especially Rachel or Ross."

"Why?"

"Because, all they are going to want to do is pester me about what happened and I really don't want to talk about it."

"Okay, but at least let me call Joey. He won't ask any questions and I can have him tell them where we are."

Monica nodded. "Okay. I'll be out in a few. You might want to wash up too. You smell like a tequila factory." She walked into the bathroom and closed the door behind her.

Chandler shot up out of bed and scurried over to the bathroom door. He leaned up and listened closely. The room was quiet and he stood still for what felt like an eternity. He refused to budge or even scratch his nose until he heard her turn on the water in the shower. He spun around and took large strides back over to the phone, picked it up, and dialed.

"Hello?"

"Hey! Rach? It's me."

"Chandler? Where are you? Have you seen or talked to Monica? We can't find her."

"Yeah. She's here with me."

"Where are you?"

"Vegas."

"VEGAS!"

Chandler gesticulated wildly and he jumped up and down. "Shhh!"

"What are you doing in Vegas? Do you know she broke up with Richard?"

"I know, I think, I don't know, she wanted to come here. I think maybe she's in denial about it."

"Oh. Should I come out there? I can look for a flight. She probably needs someone to talk to."

"Hey, I'm someone!"

"Chandler. You know what I mean."

"Yeah. Well, I don't think that's a good idea. She doesn't want to talk to anybody about it right now."

"What are you going to do?"

"I don't know. I guess we might stay here for a few days and them come back home. We don't have anything planned out yet."

"Really? Monica doesn't have this planned out? Wow. She really must be depressed."

"I know. Look, can you just let everyone else know she's okay and where we are? I'm sure Ross is losing his mind."

"Joey too. He ordered food from the burrito place last night and they never showed up. He thought maybe there was some connection."

"Sure. Tell Joey too."

"Chandler. Just, uh, well; just take care of our girl. Okay?"

"I will. I promise."

As the two of them strolled through the casino floor, Monica pointed at a nearby empty table.

"Hey! Do you know how to play craps?"

"Yeah."

"Great!" She dragged him over to the table and put some cash down on the felt.

The croupier looked at the bills and nodded. "Money plays."

Chandler grabbed Monica by the shoulders and turned her around to face him. "What did you do?"

"What, I want to trade the cash in for some chips."

"That's not what is happening here. You just made a bet with all your money."

"What? No I didn't."

Monica looked over at the croupier and scoffed. She shook her head and gestured at Chandler as if he did not know what he was talking about. The croupier slowly nodded back at her with a regretful look on his face.

"Oh no. Chandler. That's all my money!"

"Okay, don't panic. You put it on the pass line, so we just need the guy throwing the dice to…"

Before Chandler could finish, the dice flew across the table.

Monica closed her eyes and buried her face in his chest. "I can't look!"

"We got a winner!" The croupier pushed a stack of chips over towards Monica's cash.

Monica, still refusing to look, shoved her face deeper into Chandler's body. "What happened?"

"You won!"

"I what!?" Monica stepped back and looked down at the table.

"You won. You just doubled your money."

Monica turned to look at the guy who threw the dice. "Damn right I won. In your face!"

Chandler slowly shook his head. "Mon. You want him to win. When he wins, you win."

She smiled sheepishly at the shooter. "Oh. Sorry." She then looked at Chandler and pointed at the croupier. "In his face?"

Chandler rolled his eyes. "Sure."

Monica turned and jabbed her finger at the croupier. "In your face!"

Chandler made eye contact with the him over her shoulder, gestured apologetically with his hands, and mouthed "Sorry."

Monica coiled up her arm as she was about to toss the dice across the table. "New shoes for the Chan-Chan man!"

Monica let loose with the dice. They tumbled about and landed on an eight. The other gamblers around her cheered. She turned to Chandler and flashed him a a pair of wild eyes as she fed off the energy of the crowd.

Chandler shook his head in awe. "I can't believe this. I've never seen a run like this before."

"That's right baby!"

Chandler began stacking chips up as Monica prepared to roll again.

"Okay, what do I want now?"

"Uh, a four, no wait, a six…"

"Ugh! Pick a number! That is your only job!"

"Okay, uh, eight."

"All right."

"Okay you get this, and we get the biggest suite in the place."

"All right. Biggest suite in the place." Monica tossed the dice and the crowd erupted again.

"Eight!" The croupier pushed more chips back at them.

Chandler could only stare wide eyed at their good fortune. "I can't believe this."

"Okay, what do I want now."

"A hard eight. You get this, and we go out and have a fancy dinner at the best restaurant in town."

Monica turned to face him; an excited smile stretched across her lips. "Ooo. I like that. We can go and buy nice clothes. I can get a dress. You pick up a nice suit."

Chandler smiled back and bounced enthusiastically. "Yeah. It'll be just like Pretty Woman."

Monica raised an eyebrow as she smirked. "What?"

Chandler looked around as he suddenly felt everyone's eyes on him. "Uh, I mean, Pretty Man. No. Handsome Man." He let his eyes dart around the table again and then deepened his voice. "Manly Man?"

Monica shook her head and laughed as she turned back to the table and rolled the dice.

"Eight again!" The crowd around the table jumped in unison as they cheered the croupier's declaration.

"You are on fire!"

"I know!"

Before Chandler could drag the chips over, an older man grabbed him by the shoulders and slurred his words as he shouted in Chandler's face. "Don't you let her go. You're a lucky guy."

"Thank you, mister drunken gambler."

Monica spun around again, almost shivering with giddy energy. "Okay, how about, I get this one, and we go see a show!"

Chandler nodded and smiled. "Sure, as long as it isn't Viva Las Gaygas."

Monica wrinkled her brow as she stared at him. "What? Why would we go to a show called…" Suddenly, a wave of discovery fell across her face as her eyes went wide. "Oh my god. That's your father's show isn't it!"

Chandler winced and clenched his teeth. "Yeah."

"Why didn't you tell me your father was in town. We can go see him."

"No, that's okay."

"What? Chandler? What will he say if he finds out you were in Vegas and you didn't go and see him?''

"Well, he doesn't have to find out. We don't run in the same circles."

Monica's face became stern as she stared at him. "Chandler. We have to go see your father."

Chandler shrank a bit into his shoulders as he felt like her admonishing glare was burning a hole right through him. "I don't think he'll be happy to see me anyway."

"What? Why?"

A regretful, embarrassed look fell upon his face. "Well, he's tried to contact me a few times. I've kind of been blowing him off. He even came to the city to see me but I told him I was out of town."

Monica jabbed her finger into his chest. "Chandler!"

"Ow!" Chandler rubbed where she had poked him and then shook his head. "Monica. You don't know what it was like growing up with him as my dad."

"Chandler. Everyone is embarrassed by their parents."

Chandler shook his head. "You'd have to come up with a whole new word for what he did to me. When I was in high school, he would show up to all my swim meets dressed up as a different Hollywood starlet."

Monica grabbed him by the shoulders. "Yeah, but at least he went to all your swim meets. That sounds like a pretty great dad."

"He had sex with Mr. Garibaldi."

"Who's that?"

"Does it matter? Look, I don't want to see him. I don't."

Monica's features softened as she placed her hand on his chest. "Chandler, you're not a kid anymore. You're going to have to let that stuff go."

"Roll! Roll!" The crowd began to shout impatiently, voices overlapping as they urged Monica to throw the dice.

Monica spun around and gestured for everyone to wait. "Shuddap!" She then looked at Chandler. "Okay. What do I need now?"

Chandler looked back at the table. "Uh, hard eight."

"Okay, well, how about this. I roll another hard eight and we go see your father's show and you make up with him."

"What?"

The crowd began to grow restless again. They grumbled and shouted as they compelled Monica to return to the game. Chandler's eyes darted back and forth between her and the other gamblers at the table. He started to get nervous and tried to urge her to throw the dice, but she stood steady. He shook his head and relented, seeing the determination in her eyes.

"Okay, fine. You win."

Monica smiled and shook her fist. "Yes!"

"But I'm only doing this for you. You roll a hard eight, and we go see my dad."

Monica reached down with her free hand and took his in hers. Without breaking eye contact with Chandler, she flung the dice across the table. Neither one of them dared turn away from each other. She let a slow, smug smile start to spread across her lips as she waited for the croupier to call her roll. She brought her other hand down and squeezed Chandler's hand reassuringly. She kept her eyes laser focused on his and nodded. Without speaking a word, she communicated with him that whatever happened from this moment on, that she was going to take care of him and he was going to be okay. They both took a deep breath, and then the crowd erupted.

"Eight! Hard eight!"